Stephen Dedalus and His Latin-Quater Hat

In the opening section of Ulysses, James Joyce introduces the desire to distance one’s self from both social institutions and technology that perpetuate a feeling of alienation. Despite Steven Dedalus dwelling in the outskirts of Dublin as opposed to its urban center, the reader still notices themes and concepts identified by both Benjamin and Baudelaire influencing the actions and opinions of Joyce’s characters. Clearly, the fact that motifs identified in 19^th-century Paris resurface in 20^th-century Dublin serves as stalwart confirmation to their validity. Even before Joyce takes us into the heart of Dublin, we become behold an environment that is running on a structured timetable to maximize its efficiency and solely focused on the creation of wealth. The effects of capitalism identified by both Marx and Benjamin transform Dedalus’ surroundings into a mosaic of trivial and intangible achievements from which he elects to distance himself.

                At the turn of the century, Dublin was a confluence of British imperialism and Irish nationalism. Joyce allows the 300-year-old conflict to haunt his characters’ thoughts and further complicate their surroundings. On 16 June 1904, Sinn Fein was becoming quite popular while past movements such as Parnalism still lingered in the city’s collective consciousness. Dublin was furiously trying to define a course of action that both enacted a modern and fresh approach to shedding the British yoke while at the same time maintaining traditions sacred to the Irish independence movement. In other words, how does a nation defeat a technologically advanced hegemony while still clinging to archaic belief structures?

                Furthermore, Dublin was subconsciously becoming more efficient. As Benjamin stated in the Arcades Project, an economy will subordinate all individual timelines to that of the most efficient form. Actions operating independent of any external influence suddenly become amalgamated into one collective mechanism solely dedicated to maximizing production. Such is the case in 1906 Dublin. While Dedalus and his friends stand on the beach looking out to sea, Haines, an Englishman, states that authorities searching for a man who drowned nine days ago should find the corpse today based on the local superstition that a drowned corpse takes nine days to resurface. How does a seemingly independent event such as the recovery of a dead body submit to the predictability of a timetable? Both Benjamin and Marx would reply by stating that in capitalism, even the dead must be efficient.

                Joyce embodies another form of Marxist alienation with respect to the conversion of labor into capital. Stephen Dedalus, rumored to be to Joyce’s alter-ego, is a teacher at lavish private school. Being an educator, one would expect that educated and enlightened pupils would serve as a tangible product of one’s labor. However, Dedalus’ attempts fails to yield said result. His students’ demand for an early release to play field hockey truncates his lesson on Pyrrhus. After dismissing his unruly students, a boy by the name of Cyril Sergeant approaches Dedalus with a problem set of arithmetic and requests his help. As soon as he touches the boy’s notebook, a single sensation jolts through Dedalus: futility. Despite Dedalus’ patient instruction and multiple repetitions, Cyril is unable to grasp the concepts. “Waiting always for a word of help,” Dedalus narrates, “his hand moved faithfully the unsteady symbols, a faint hue of shame flickering behind his dull skin”[1]. Instead of the rewarding feeling of helping a student grow intellectually, Dedalus only receives a reminder of how awkward and frail he was during his youth. Since his labor is unable to manifest in the form of successful instruction, Dedalus shamefully makes his way to Mr. Deasy’s office to receive his bi-weekly salary.

While waiting for Mr. Deasy to dispense his salary, Dedalus takes note of the seas shells displayed on the massive desk. Jeri Johnson’s notes to Ulysses explain that these shells are souvenirs from the shrine of St. James in Spain. Pilgrims who make the arduous journey proudly display them as a testament to their endeavor. Dedalus’ “embarrassed hand moved over the shells heaped in the cold stone mortar”[2]  as he beholds a tangible product of labor, in this case the sea shells, in conversation with his pending monetary payment for his services.

Further confirming the alienation from the products of labor, Mr. Deasy uses a machine to dispense Dedalus’ salary. “You must buy one of these machines,” he remarks, “You’ll find them very useful”[3]. Not only is Dedalus receiving a payment that will barely cover his expenses; he receives his coins from a machine as opposed to a human. Caught off guard by the mechanical intrusion into his environment, Dedalus jokes that there is little need to buy such a machine because it would always be empty. While Dedalus further reflects upon the sea shells, Mr. Deasy lectures, “Because you don’t save. You don’t know what money is. Money is power, when you have lived as long as I have. I know, I know. If youth but knew”[4]. He goes even further by explaining to Dedalus that the proudest thing an Englishman can say is, “I paid my way”[5]. He demands Dedalus feel his aura of never having borrowed a schilling. As proud of Mr. Deasy is of his life-long labor, Dedalus is unable to feel anything. Mr. Deasy’s aura is an intangible, if not imaginary, accomplishment to everyone but himself.

Strangely enough, Mr. Deasy goes on to criticize the Jews as moneychangers and financial swindlers. While it is admirable for him to base his existence on capital, it become abhorrent when a race thought to be inferior espouses the same values. “Do you know why Ireland has the honor of being the only country not to persecute the Jews?” inquires Mr. Deasy to which he answers, “Because she never let them in!”[6]. As his laughs bubble through a phlegm-packed esophagus, the sun bathes Mr. Deasy in what Dedalus describes as a glimmering coat of “dancing coins”[7]. Differently put, Joyce transforms Mr. Deasy into an obscene laughing pile of money. The irony of his hypocrisy is evident for both Dedalus and the reader.

Following his awkward conversation with Mr. Deasy, Dedalus goes walking alone on the beach and meditates on Mr. Deasy’s asinine worldview. While smelling the sea and feeling the salt wind blow, Dedalus remembers a time in Dublin full of “Famine, plague, and slaughters”[8]. Whether it is the Bruce invasion of the 14^th-century massacring Dublin’s population or its starving masses feasting on dead beached whales, Dedalus cannot help but note the absurdity of Mr. Deasy’s success in a seemingly arbitrary and intangible system. How does a machine that dispenses coin trump defeating the Viking invasion? Is borrowing money worse than feeding your family with rotten whale blubber? Clearly, Dedalus’ dismisses the ideas espoused by the imbecilic Mr. Deasy.

In response to the alienation rendered by the mechanized industrialization dominating Dublin, Dedalus elects to distance himself from what he feels is an obfuscated system that grows more confusing with each passing day. While have morning tea, Dedalus’ friend Buck Mulligan states, “I’m a hyperborean as much as you,”[9]. In this context, hyperborean refers to a term Nietzsche uses to describe one who’s “above the crowd and not enslaved by conformity to the dictates of traditional Christian morality, whereas the moral man who lives for others is a weakling, a degenerate”[10]. Dedalus refuses to embrace the dominating Catholic Church in lieu of a liberating atheist moral code. “Either you believe or you don’t, isn’t it?” states Dedalus, “I could never stomach that idea of a God”[11]. In addition to religion, Dedalus even rejects the contemporary fashion that allows him to blend into a crowd. Instead of wearing the ever-popular derby, he dons what he refers to as a Latin-quarter hat (i.e. a soft, floppy hat popular with the Bohemian movement in Paris). While pondering why he has selected such an abnormal piece of headgear, Dedalus states, “God, we must dress the character”[12]. While a derby would allow him to appear the same as everyone else, he elects to stand out in a mass of people. Dadalus even avoids a connection with his family. Evidently, his aunt perpetuated the notion that he is responsible for his mother’s recent death. His voluntary withdrawal from normal social structures allows him to “not be the master of others or their slave”[13]. In other words, Stephen Dedalus exists for no one but Stephen Dedalus.

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[1] James Joyce, Ulysses, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 28.

[2] Ibid., 30.

[3] Ibid., 30.

[4] Ibid.,30.

[5] Ibid.,31.

[6] Ibid.,36.

[7] Ibid.,36.

[8] Ibid.,45.

[9] Ibid., 5.

[10] Don Gifford and Robert J. Seidman, Ulysses Annotated, (University of California Press: Los Angles, 1988), 15.

[11] James Joyce, Ulysses, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 20.

[12] Ibid., 41.

[13] Ibid., 45.